


The Liar Of Baskerville.

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Denial, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Virgin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is also the liaison for anything extra-terrestrial. What he finds at Baskerville will change his life forever.





	The Liar Of Baskerville.

THE LIAR OF BASKERVILLE

 

Rating: Teen and up.

 

Summary: The research facility at Baskerville also serves another purpose. It’s Mycroft Holmes’s job to monitor and deal with what and who occasionally falls to Earth. That’s the other function of Baskerville. When he gets a message about a new incursion, he has to decide how to proceed, but when he comes face to face with the alien, his world is never going to be the same again.

 

A/N: See end notes for inspiration.

 

Mycroft Holmes took Alicia Smallwood’s elbow and steered her out of the theatre where they had just enjoyed the first night of the Bolshoi’s world tour and guided her to his waiting car.

 

The first night was always an occasion for dressing up, the women looked like jewelled butterflies in silk and taffeta and the men all looked like they were trying to emulate James Bond.

 

“That was wonderful!” enthused Alicia as she settled back into the luxurious leather seat of the Mercedes.

 

Mycroft merely smiled. Sherlock had always had a passion for dance but Mycroft had thought it a terrible waste of effort and energy when he could be using his time for more cerebral pursuits.

 

“Yes, “replied Mycroft. “It was a beautiful interpretation.” He appreciated the fact that he had to make some kind of response.

 

The car pulled up outside Lady Smallwood’s town house, the engine purring as the car waited in neutral.

 

“Why don’t you come in for coffee?” invited Alicia.

 

Mycroft was about to reply in the negative when his mobile sounded.

 

“I’m sorry, my dear. I must take this.”

 

Alicia nodded, all too well aware of the pressures Mycroft was under at all times.

 

“Yes? Oh, good evening, Major. I see. Very well. Will tomorrow suffice? Excellent. Goodbye.”

 

Mycroft put his phone back in the pocket of his dinner jacket and turned to Alicia.

 

“That was Major Barrymore. It seems my presence is needed at Baskerville.”

 

She looked rather deflated, so Mycroft sweetened it with,” We will have to have coffee another time.”

 

He took her hand and swept it to his lips in a courtly gesture.

 

“Goodnight, my dear.”

 

“Goodnight, Mycroft. Ring me when you get back.”

 

He waited until she had vanished through the front door of her house and instructed his driver to take him home.

 

Mycroft’s sleep was disturbed that night. What awaited him at Baskerville did not trouble him in the least. It would be dealt with, one way or another. The problem of Lady Alicia Smallwood would, however, take some delicate handling.

 

Mycroft liked her. She was a handsome, warm, loving woman. Just the kind his mother had always hoped he’d fall for.

 

The fact that Alicia was almost as old as, and even looked like, his mother hadn’t escaped him either. He should kill his own father and have done with it. Oedipus Holmes...

 

Except there hadn’t been any sex, and there never would be.

 

Mycroft had never felt the need for a physical sexual relationship. He did have urges occasionally but they were more than satisfied by the fine collection of erotica that he possessed, shelved in his library just out of the sightline of his housekeeper, in plain dust jackets. Five minutes with one sizzling volume and his own right hand soon put paid to any random erections. He had never been physically aroused by another person; male or female, never been driven starry-eyed and breathless by the embrace of another, and the thought of that actually happening to him was laughable, like something out of one of those dreadful true-life magazines his housekeeper read. There was another, darker, part of him, a part of his sexuality he refused to acknowledge, the part that sometimes infiltrated his dreams and made them into a pornographic peep show featuring him and, well, certainly not Alicia, or any other female.

 

He would have to let Alicia down gently and choose his words with extreme care. Whatever had possessed him to get involved with her in the first place was a mystery. He suspected he was lonely and recognised the same symptoms in her.

 

Realising that he would get no more sleep that night, he switched on his laptop and started working methodically through his e-mails.

 

The long drive to Dartmoor was always tedious but Mycroft had brought enough work with him to keep him occupied. Once they were through the usual checkpoints, his driver parked the car and Mycroft got out to find Major Barrymore waiting for him.

 

Over the years he had developed a cordial working relationship with the man and Mycroft could only admire his devotion to what must be a very difficult posting.

 

“Good morning, Major,” said Mycroft as they fell into step making for the facility. “What exactly are we dealing with here?”

 

The major frowned. “It’s hard to say, sir. The best the boffins can come up with is that it’s some kind of genetically engineered creature. However, no one’s been able to stay in the containment unit with it long enough to make any kind of proper observations.”

 

“And why is that?” asked Mycroft. “Is it hideous? Is it violent? Cannibalistic?”

 

The major shook his head and looked away.

 

“It’s hard to describe, sir. As far as we can tell, in’s humanoid, but it looks different to every person that sees it.”

 

Mycroft’s interest was piqued.

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, Corporal Lyons lasted about two minutes before he was begging to be let out. When I debriefed him, he said that if he’d tried anything your brother would have killed him. What do you make of that?”

 

Mycroft was momentarily lost for words.

 

“I can’t imagine. Tell me, Major. What do you see in the containment unit?”

 

Major Barrymore refused to meet Mycroft’s gaze.

 

“I don’t go in there, sir. Once was enough. “

 

“That seems rather remiss of you, Major,” said Mycroft sharply.

 

The major didn’t answer, pressing the button on the lift that would take them down to the containment unit.

 

“Remiss or not, sir. I just can’t do it. And neither would you if when you looked in that room, you saw your own wife. “

 

The lift door opened and the two men got out, their footsteps echoing in the gloomy corridor.

 

“It’s just in there, sir,” said Major Barrymore, indicating one of the more commodious containment rooms. “Good luck. Just press the intercom when you want to get out.”

 

The major swiped his Baskerville ID, Mycroft did the same with his and the major punched in a complicated series of numbers.

 

With a pneumatic hiss, the door swung open and Mycroft stepped inside, flinching as the door slammed behind him.

 

The containment unit contained a bed, a couple of chairs, a table and a television. Out of sight was a tiny bathroom. Judging by the fact that the room appeared empty, this had to be where the alien was.

 

“Who’s there?” asked a gravelly voice which Mycroft thought he recognised. “If you’ve come for more tissue samples, you’ll have to hang on a bit.”

 

“My name is Mycroft Holmes and I’ve come to you from the Cabinet Office…”

 

The door to the bathroom swung open.

 

“I have a responsibility to monitor alien incursion…Jesus Christ!”

 

“Seems a bit of a funny kink, but I’ve seen all sorts in my time.”

 

Mycroft was aware that he had lost the power of rational thought, was sitting with his mouth open, frozen to the spot with, quite possibly, his eyes out on stalks.

 

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was standing there in front of him, perfect in every detail, wearing a sleeveless top and a pair of shorts that left absolutely no doubt as to his gender.

 

The alien looked amused, smiling Lestrade’s smile and running a hand through his silver hair exactly the way Lestrade did.

 

“Hello, Mycroft Holmes. I’m guessing that Jesus Christ isn’t what you’re seeing. I wonder what is?”

 

With inhuman reflexes the alien pressed both hands to either side of Mycroft’s head, its eyes glowing briefly silver and inhaling sharply before Mycroft could even draw another breath.

 

The alien looked amused as he released his grip.

 

“What are you?” snarled Mycroft. He felt almost violated.

 

The alien sat on the other chair, its hands in its lap.

 

“I think a bloke with a brain like yours has probably worked it out.”

 

“The major says you’re genetically engineered.”

 

The alien gave one of Lestrade’s laughs, something that tugged in a dark recess of Mycroft’s libido, one he had always refused to acknowledge.

 

“He’s right, we are. Genetically engineered to provide pleasure for the buyer. We look like whoever you most sexually desire.”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Mycroft. “I have no desire for Inspector Lestrade!”

 

“Liar.” Greg Lestrade was smirking at him. “Your pupils are dilated, your heart rate has increased exponentially since you came in here, your respiratory rate has increased, your mouth is dry as your secretions have ceased, there is a faint pink blush to your skin, indicative of increased blood flow, your nipples are erect and your penis is engorged. If I truly was who you think you see, he would be in for the ride of his life.”

 

The alien moved closer to Mycroft, Mycroft’s vision suddenly full of a smiling, responsive Lestrade, his dark brown eyes full of desire, one who wanted exactly what Mycroft had been denying himself all his adult life. All he had to do was reach out…

 

“No!” Mycroft exclaimed, drawing back.

 

The alien looked non-plussed.

 

“It’s what you want. It’s obvious. The way you are now, your memories…every interaction you have had with this man shines in your subconscious like a diamond on black velvet. You want him, and that was what I was made for.”

 

“No,” said Mycroft, softly this time. “It would be wrong. “

 

The alien shrugged. “Fair enough. I can’t force you.”

 

“Perhaps instead you can tell me your name?”

 

“I don’t have one. Only a batch number. And that’s taken from the womb tanks where we’re grown. If it makes things any easier for you, Mycroft Holmes, I’m not going to live much longer. My kind wear out very quickly, we have planned obsolescence programmed into us as well. You won’t have to have me killed, I’ll be dead within about two of your Earth weeks.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Mycroft gently. “That was never my intention.”

 

“You’re still a liar,” said the alien. “I’ve seen your thoughts.” Mycroft looked away, ashamed.

 

“Is there anything you need that we can get for you?”

 

“No, not really. One thing, though, your secret is destroying you. Don’t let it. Make a phone call. Arrange a date. Before it’s too late for both of you. The worst lies are the ones you tell yourself.”

 

Mycroft stood up, all business and inscrutability once more.

 

“Goodbye then.”

 

The alien double of Greg Lestrade stood up and shook Mycroft’s outstretched hand.

 

“Goodbye, Mycroft Holmes. And good luck.”

 

 

Mycroft had no memory of being driven back from Baskerville, or returning to his spartan office. He sat in his chair, his mind still reeling from what he had seen at Baskerville.

 

He picked up the phone and dialled Alicia’s number, arranging to meet her in ten minutes. He had to end it and properly. Anything less would be unworthy of both him and her.

 

He hesitated as he picked up the phone again, then thought of the poor creature languishing in Baskerville waiting for death.

 

He dialled the number.

 

“Lestrade,” the voice was gravelly and sounded annoyed at being interrupted but Mycroft persisted.

 

“Good afternoon, Inspector. It's Mycroft Holmes. I wonder, are you free for dinner this evening?”

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The alien was inspired by the pleasure gelf from Red Dwarf, but I mean no infringement as this one is a bit different.


End file.
